


Narrow-Minded Cultural Assumptions

by Quicksilver_ink



Category: Gyakuten Saiban | Ace Attorney
Genre: Christmas, Family, Fluff, Food, Friendship, Hanukkah, Holidays, Multi, New Years, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, Work In Progress, multicultural hijinks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-12-01
Updated: 2011-12-17
Packaged: 2017-10-26 18:14:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/286406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quicksilver_ink/pseuds/Quicksilver_ink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Apollo agrees to spend the December holidays with the Wrights. Their traditions aren't exactly what he's used to...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_This isn't what I expected when I set out to become a lawyer, but really, it's not so bad,_ Apollo thought to himself, looking around the main room of the Wright Anything Agency. He'd grown used to spending his evenings there, going over case records while Trucy did her homework. Sometimes Mr. Wright joined them, reading from thick legal books as he studied for the bar exam – that _was_ rather more like what he'd imagined, although he hadn't expected to be called upon to quiz his mentor on property law. And he certainly hadn't expected to become used to the regular stream of casual evening visitors.  Sometimes Vera Misham came over and drew quietly in the corner, or played board games with them. Prosecutor Gavin had graced them with his presence once or twice, and Ema Skye had invited herself over to dinner a few times, too.

This particular December evening it was quiet, just Apollo and Trucy working at the coffee table. Trucy had bullied Apollo into temporarily parting with his bracelet so she could sketch it for art class. Although it wouldn't help him spot any flaws in the records he read, the attorney still felt slightly uncomfortable without its familiar weight on his wrist.

“Hey, Apollo, do you have any plans for the holidays?” Trucy asked suddenly, looking up from her drawing. “Are you going to go visit family or anything?”

“Hmm? Holidays? Oh, right,” Apollo said, jumping guiltily. He'd just been checking a reference to the SL-9 case, and then gotten completely engrossed reading about Phoenix Wright and a younger, pre-detective Ema Skye going head-to-head with the famous prosecutor Miles Edgeworth. “Right! Holidays! Um, well, I didn't really have any plans or anything...”

Trucy tilted her head curiously. “So you're not going to go visit your family?”

Apollo chewed on a pencil. “There's usually a get-together for Christmas, but this year my foster parents are going on a cruise for their anniversary. It's one of the big ones, so all of us kids chipped in.”

“Their wedding anniversary is near Christmas? That's interesting.”

“It's the 24th, actually.”

“Oh!” Trucy clapped her hands together. “Christmas Eve! That's really romantic.”

Apollo was used to people remarking on the interesting timing of his foster-parents' anniversary, but this was the first time anyone had insisted it was romantic. “Romantic? Why is that?”

“Um, you know...” Trucy nibbled her pencil. “I'm not sure. My sort-of cousin just always says it is. I've never asked her why. Huh. Does that mean you're accepting Lamiroir's invitation to go to New York?”

Apollo rubbed the back of his neck. “I haven't given her an answer yet. I know she says she wants to thank us for helping out Machi, but... joining her on tour seems a bit much, you know?” He fidgeted with his pencil. The singer had been so nervous over the phone – she clearly very much wanted them both there. Was it just about what they'd done for Machi, or was there something else on her mind? “Are you planning to go?”

Trucy shook her head. “No. I told her I was going up to Kurain with Daddy to visit Aunt M and the rest for New Years, like usual. It's a family tradition, see.”

Well, that decided that. Apollo was _not_ going to be the only outsider along for a famous singer's tour, even if she had personally invited him. He felt a little bad about it, but. “I probably won't be going either, then. Prosecutor Gavin's going to be there, too, he'll probably find a way to bill me for the experience...”

“So you'll be all alone? That's no way to spend the holidays,” Trucy chided. Apollo winced as she turned her head and raised her voice, “Hey, Daddy, can Polly spend the holidays with us?”

“No stage voices inside, Trucy,” Mr. Wright said, appearing in the doorway. “The neighbors will complain.”

“Sorry, Daddy,” Trucy apologized hastily, returning to her initial matter in the same breath. “So, can he?”

“It's fine with me. The question is, does he want to?”

Apollo saw his mentor's bright blue eyes settle on him, and reddened. He wasn't really sure what holidays with the Wrights would entail, although knowing Trucy it probably involved an inordinate amount of holiday cheer and unusual traditions. “I, um, don't want to be a bother...”

Mr. Wright smiled. “Don't worry, you won't be. But take your time to decide – I won't blame you if you don't want to join us for the madhouse that is New Year's Eve at Kurain.” He winked.

“Kurain is the village up in the mountains famous for its Spirit Mediums, correct?” Apollo asked, hoping he didn't sound too incredulous. No matter how many times he heard about it, or read about it in old case records, it was just hard to swallow. His bracelet, that was something real and tangible, and Ema had even come up with a Scientific explanation for how it worked.

Trucy didn't seem to notice any doubt in his voice. “That's right! Aunt M is the master of the whole Kurain order!”

“The master of the order?” Apollo swallowed. Fraudulent or not, the Master of Kurain held a lot of influence. “You know someone that famous, Mr. Wright?”

Mr. Wright laughed. “Is that so strange? Klavier Gavin is pretty famous, too, and you seem to be fairly good friends with him.”

“Um, that's different.” Apollo fiddled with his papers. “He's a prosecutor, so I see him in court sometimes. But the Master of Kurain hardly ever leaves the mountain, and when she does, it's to consult with important government leaders.”

Mr. Wright chuckled. “I guess that's officially true. Unofficially, she comes down at least once a month to catch a movie or a Steel Samurai stage show. Her name's Maya Fey. She was my assistant, back when I was an attorney.”

“You've met her before, Polly,” Trucy broke in. “She was at the party we had after Daddy's name was cleared. She was the taller one in purple robes. Pearly was the shorter one, my age.”

Apollo winced inwardly. His memory of the party was little more than a hazy blur, a result of drinking too many cups of punch before finding out that it had been variously spiked by Klavier Gavin, Mr. Wright, and an unfamiliar women who had arrived on a red motorcycle. He did have a vague recollection of a young woman in purple robes – she'd eaten entirely too many hamburgers.. “I suppose I did. So you go up to Kurain Village for New Years?”

“Yes, and it's tons of fun! New Years is one of the most important holidays in the Kurain tradition, so there's a big party. We get to eat lots of good food and get our fortunes told. Just silly things,” she added hastily, and Apollo realized his face had given away his skepticism. “Things like good luck for the new year, and so forth.”

That didn't sound _too_ strange or threatening. And it was certainly better than spending the night alone, for Klavier to tease him about over the next case of the new year. “All right.”

“Great! Then you might as well join us for Christmas, too! Er,” she glanced at her father for permission.

Mr. Wright laughed again and shrugged. “It's up to Apollo.”

 _I hope I know what I'm getting into..._   
“Sure, I'll come. Do you go up to Kurain for Christmas as well?”

Trucy shook her head. “Nah, Christmas isn't really important in Kurain, so we just stay here for that.” She turned yet again to her father. “Hey, Daddy, is Santa coming this year?”

Phoenix scratched his chin. “Hmm, I'm not sure. Do you want him to?”

Trucy bounced in her seat. “Of course! Christmas Eve is always more fun with Santa.”

Surely Trucy was too old to still believe in Santa Claus? Apollo looked from Trucy to her father and back again, trying to decide if they were serious, or if this was just another example of Wright father-daughter humor.

“All right. I'll have to call him and see if he's busy.” Mr. Wright pulled out his cell phone. “Any messages for him?”

“Tell him to bring presents this year, too!”

Mr. Wright chuckled. “We'll see. He might not be able to bring any this year.” He pushed some buttons on his phone, listened for a moment, and then made a face. “It's just his voicemail. I'll have to call him later. Now finish your homework, Trucy.”

Apollo watched Mr. Wright head out the door with a sinking feeling. Santa's voicemail? This smelled too much of keeping up an act, and he could definitely see a cheapskate like Mr. Wright claiming “Santa can't come this year” as a reason for not providing Christmas presents.

“Um, Trucy...” He began, searching for words.

“Hmm?”

“...you know he's made up, right?” _Please? You're fifteen, you have to know..._

Trucy's forehead wrinkled. “What are you talking about?”

“Santa. He's really your dad. You know that, right?”

“Why would you say that?” Trucy asked, clear confusion in her voice. “He's nothing like Daddy. They don't even look the same. Santa's got a beard, Daddy just has stubble.” She chewed her pencil thoughtfully. “Well, sometimes. He's been shaving more regularly now, have you noticed?”

Apollo had noticed that Mr. Wright's personal grooming had improved lately, but he was not going to let himself be distracted so easily. “Trucy, does Santa really come visit you on Christmas Eve?” he pressed.

She nodded emphatically. “Yes! Daddy always goes out-- to see an old friend on Christmas Eve, if he can.” She played with an earring, turning the small stud between forefinger and thumb. “So Santa comes to visit, usually, although he doesn't always make it.”

“Your dad leaves for the evening, and then Santa shows up? In his red suit and beard and everything?” Apollo searched Trucy's face for any sign that she was joking.

“Yes, of course! It's how you know he's Santa.” Trucy frowned. “You're being awfully dense, Apollo.”

Trucy's animated face had betrayed no joking smirk, and he hadn't noticed any of her usual “tells” throughout the entire exchange – he didn't need his bracelet on to be sure that Trucy really believed what she was saying. Apollo sighed. “Sorry. Who does your father go to visit?” That detail was clearly just Mr. Wright's cover for the Santa thing, but if he pushed, maybe Trucy would be able to find a contradiction herself. “Most people prefer to spend Christmas with family, if they can.”

Trucy waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, Daddy and I always spend all day on Christmas together. We hang out, play board games and go out for Chinese food. And last year...” She fiddled with her earring again. “Last year we went to a new restaurant. It was really good!”

Apollo was starting to wonder if the Wrights were a foreign country all to themselves. He'd read a bit about culture shock, and this was definitely starting to feel like that. “Chinese food? On Christmas?”

“Is that a little unusual?” Trucy tilted her head at him. “Hmm. Some of my friends at school think so, but it's not like many other restaurants are open. Even the Wonder Bar and Eldoon's are closed.”

“Well... it's kind of a _lot_ unusual. Most people go to church or something, and eat dinner at home.” Apollo ran his hand through his hair. “Er, right? That's what my family always did, when I was growing up.”

Trucy laughed. “Oh, I see why you're confused. You have to get rid of your narrow-minded cultural assumptions, Apollo! We don't go to church on Christmas. Troupe Gramayre always worked on Christmas for the special holiday show, and Daddy's Jewish.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apollo learns the true meaning of Hannukkah: fried food and family.

It was the next day before Apollo realized he'd never heard from Trucy just who her father ostensibly visited on Christmas Eve. He meant to ask, but Apollo suddenly found himself busy with a car theft case (the defendant was a friend of Wocky Kitaki, and had the same delusions of gangsterhood), and for several days he was too worn out from dealing with uncooperative witnesses to have the energy to question an evasive Trucy, or worse, Mr. Wright. Trucy was inclined to be somewhat sulky, too, since with finals coming up she couldn't ditch school to follow Apollo as he searched for clues or stood in court.

The sun had almost set by the time he'd finished organizing his notes for the next – and last – day in court. Finally done! He looked up across the coffee table to ask Trucy how her homework was going, but the young magician wasn't there. In fact, she wasn't anywhere in the room.

It was then that he realized just how _quiet_ the room was. No scratch of pencil on paper, no grumbling from Mr. Wright about the rule against perpetuities, no lilt of Trucy's voice as she practiced her patter, or slap of cards or rustle of Mr. Hat's cape as she practiced a trick. Unnerved, he stood up, banging his knees on the underside of the coffee table in his haste. “Trucy? Mr. Wright?”

“We're in the kitchen, Apollo,” Mr. Wright called.

Apollo stepped into the tiny kitchen to find Mr. Wright was telling the truth. The lights had been turned down, but he could still see them both clearly in the light from the hallway. His mentor was sitting at the small table, leaning his chair back so that it bumped against the refrigerator, the front feet off the floor. Rather than scolding him, Trucy was bouncing on her heels and staring at the glowing microwave clock. A small brass candelabrum, covered in dripped wax, sat on a tin-foil covered plate in the middle of the table. There were two thin candles set in it, one higher than the other, although Apollo noticed room for seven others, and a box on the counter.

“Is that a menorah?” he asked – unnecessarily, since what else would it be?

“Yep.” Trucy didn't take her eyes off the clock. She fidgeted with one of her wands – Apollo wasn't good enough yet at identifying them, so he wasn't sure which it was. “One minute.”

“One minute until what?”

“'Til Hanukkah!” Trucy said, bouncing even more impatiently.

“Jewish holidays start at sundown,” Mr. Wright said, leaning forward so that his chair stood flat on the floor again. “And Trucy's stricter than I am about lighting the candles at the right time.”

“It's time!” Trucy announced, and spun around, wand raised. “Your turn tonight, Daddy.” She passed the wand like a knife scissors, holding the tip in her hand and offering the base to her father. Mr. Wright took it from her carefully. He fiddled around with something on the base, and a small flame rose

Apollo backed up quickly. He recognized the wand _now_ , and Trucy's tricks with flashpaper always made him nervous.

“ _Baruch atah Adonai,_ ” he said quietly, touching the tip of the wand to the raised candle. Trucy's voice, low and solemn, joined in. “ _Eloheinu melach ha'olam_.” As they spoke, Mr. Wright extinguished the wand and set it on the tinfoil, then reached for the lit candle. “... _asher kidishanu bmitzvatov..._ ”-- He lit the other candle with the one in his hand – “ _vitzivanu,_ _l'had'lik neir_ “ –  waiting until the flame, initially faltering, had risen well above the curling wick before returning his candle to its original place. “ _shel Hanukkah_.”

They repeated the words again, or so it seemed to Apollo, Mr. Wright's deeper voice and Trucy's lighter one an octave apart as they spoke the prayer. The ending was different this time – “ _shehecheyanu v'kiyimanu, v'higi'anu laz'man hazeh.”_

Apollo watched father and daughter's faces glowing in the faint, flickering light from the two small candles. Trucy's smile was guileless as always – Apollo had never known her to hide her happiness or affection from her expression. Mr. Wright's smile was smaller and gentle, and not the wry, careless grin Apollo was used to. The man's eyes gleamed in the candle-light, and his smile widened when his gaze met his daughter's across the menorah.

The corners of Apollo's eyes pricked, and he stepped back, feeling acutely like an intruder. In his blind retreat he bumped the lightswitch. The overhead fluorescent light came to life with a flicker, and the spell was broken. Mr. Wright stood up, and Trucy turned to rummage through the cabinet under the sink.

“Do you want to light the candles tomorrow, Apollo?” Mr. Wright asked him genially, his eyes on Apollo's face. “We'd have called you in, but Trucy said you were absorbed in your work, and I didn't want to interrupt you preparing for court tomorrow.”

Apollo swallowed, feeling shy. “I, um, I don't know the words,” he mumbled. ”And I'm not Jewish...”

“That's okay, neither am I,” Trucy called from under the sink. She uttered a cry of triumph, and stood up. “I found the food processor, Daddy.”

“If you don't want to, you don't have to,” Mr. Wright said easily. “But you're welcome to join us.” He stepped around the table and started pulling things from drawers and cabinets – a knife, a cutting board, and several large potatoes. “Speaking of joining us, did you have dinner plans tonight?”

Apollo shook his head. “I, um, was going to order something when I got home.”

“Then stay for latkes!” Trucy encouraged him. “They're really great. Daddy makes the best latkes I've ever had.”

Apollo recognized the set-up for a joke when Trucy fed it to him. “Are they the only latkes you've ever had?” he asked, and hid his smile at Trucy's affirmation.

The kitchen was small, but somehow they found room for all of them to work. Apollo scrubbed potatoes, and then an apple and onion, while Mr. Wright and Trucy cut them into long, narrow pieces and fed them into the food processor. Then Apollo and Trucy wrung the water out of the shredded potatoes over the sink, bumping elbows repeatedly in the small space, while Mr. Wright beat eggs, and then whisked together salt, cinnamon, and flour.

The very messy business of mixing the egg and flour-mixture into the potatoes was handled by Mr. Wright, who worked the eggs in first with a fork, and then by hand. Still, Apollo slipped his bracelet into his pocket, not wanting to get it dirty.

“Time for the oil,” Mr. Wright said, and produced a battered, olive-green electric skillet from under the sink.

“Hanukkah’s all about fried food and fire,” Mr. Wright said, pouring the oil about a quarter of an inch deep. “The Maccabeans retook the temple from Antiochus, who had desecrated it by sacrificing pigs. When they retook the temple and rededicated it, they only had enough oil for the ner tamid, the Eternal Flame, to burn for one day. However, by a miracle, the oil lasted for eight days, and that's why...” Mr. Wright trailed off and rubbed the back of his neck, his face reddening. “Um, sorry, went on autopilot there. We had to give speeches on the holidays in first grade in Hebrew school, and I picked Hanukkah. Guess I still have it memorized.” He turned his back to them and busied himself with tying on an apron.

“Daddy's not really religious,” Trucy whispered to Apollo as Mr. Wright spooned the first four latkes into the sizzling oil. “But it's funny to get him reciting things like that! Later on I'll see if I can get him to do a recitation for you where he starts singing. Those are the best.” She raised her voice to a normal volume, and lay paper towels across a plate. “It's not actually an important Jewish holiday, you know. Mostly we do Hanukkah because Daddy says it's important to pass on family traditions like food.”

“It's also a good excuse for fried foods,” Mr. Wright said over the pop and sizzle of the skillet. “Some families eat donuts, too. And cheese. And Hanukkah gelt, but we stopped that because Trucy said they weren't any good for tricks.”

“Gelt are chocolate coins,” Trucy explained. “Except they're usually made of that cheap chocolate that tastes like soap, and they really are no good for tricks. They get all melty in my hands and up my sleeve.”

It took longer than Apollo expected for the first batch to finish, but he'd never had much experience with frying food, unless you counted eggs. When Mr. Wright and finished transferring the first four crispy brown pancakes to the plate, and covered them with another layer of paper towels, he turned to face them and offered the spatula to Trucy. “Your turn.”

The phone rang then, and Mr. Wright struggled out of the apron and ran off to answer it. Trucy had already flipped all four of her latkes by the time he returned to the kitchen.

“That was Santa. He just told me his latest girlfriend dumped him, so he'll be here for Christmas Eve.”

“Aww, poor guy!” Trucy expertly maneuvered a finished latke to the paper-towel covered plate, and added more of the potato batter to the hot oil. “I'm sure baking cookies and watching holiday movies will cheer him right up.” She offered the spatula and apron to Apollo. “Your turn!”

 _Santa's girlfriend? Whatever happened to Mrs. Claus?_ Apollo wondered as he put on the apron. “Santa is able to come this year because he broke up with his girlfriend?”

“Yup. Otherwise he'd be spending the evening with her, of course!”

“Oh. Of course.” Carefully, Apollo flipped over a latke. The Wrights' Santa mythology got stranger the more he heard. “When did you first meet Santa?”

“Oh, it was the first Christmas Eve when I was with Daddy – this Daddy, I mean, not my first Daddy. He babysat me while Daddy went to visit his friend,” Trucy said easily.

 _Visiting a friend, huh..._ This was a perfect opportunity to poke holes in Mr. Wright's Christmas Eve alibi. He wished he'd left his bracelet on – it was hard to pay attention to the latkes and watch Trucy for her tells. “A friend of Mr. Wright's?” Apollo asked, perhaps a little too aggressively.

“I have an old friend who shouldn't be left alone on Christmas Eve, in case someone frames him for murder again,” Mr. Wright offered, grinning disarmingly. “I like to make sure he had an alibi. We usually go out for dinner and drinks.”

 _Framing for murder? Again? Is that a common problem for your friends?_ Apollo tried to find a polite way to ask more, but Trucy interrupted his thoughts.

“Ah, Polly! It's getting black around the edges!”

Apollo spent the next few minutes transferring finished latkes from pan to plate and trying to clear the oil of burned fragments without disturbing those still cooking. He spooned in two more, flinching as the wet batter made the oil hiss and spit. Pinpricks of hot oil stung the backs of his hands and forearms.

“My turn now,” Mr. Wright said, and Apollo surrendered the spatula and apron. “Say, Apollo... would you like to meet my friend this year? Just for a short while, before he and I go out for the evening.”

 _I guess he noticed me pressing that issue._ “Um, sure!”

Apollo's turn came around again with the last batch of latkes, and he switched off the skillet as Trucy and Mr. Wright made ham sandwiches (“we need some protein to go with all of the starch and grease,” Trucy had decreed, and neither she nor Mr. Wright seemed to see anything wrong with eating ham on a Jewish holiday.) The kitchen was too small for all three of them to sit at the table – there was only one chair, even – so they decamped to the main room of the agency and sat at the coffee table.

The latkes were delicious, soft in the center and crispy tendrils of shredded potato along the edges. Apollo tried his with applesauce and sour cream at Mr. Wright's behest, but bypassed the honey Trucy was drowning hers in. He did try to ask a few more questions about “Santa”, but Trucy and Mr. Wright were so evasive that he gave up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for the next update, where Apollo sorts out the Santa mystery once and for all, and also makes sugar cookies.
> 
>  
> 
> After “The Best I Know”, you didn't think I would really post a whole chapter about latke-making without also supplying a recipe, did you? Once again, Phoenix's recipe is my family's recipe, although in this case it comes from a few cookbooks, rather than Grandma.
> 
> Phoenix and Trucy's Latke Recipe
> 
> Ingredients:  
> 6 large potatoes  
> 1 large apple  
> 2 tbsp flour  
> 3 eggs  
> 1/2 tsp cinnamon  
> 1teasp. salt  
> Oil for frying  
> 1 onion
> 
> Grate the potatoes, apple, and onion, by hand or with a food processor. Squeeze out the excess moisture (it's easiest to wrap it all up in a floursack towel or cheesecloth to do this).
> 
> Beat the eggs and stir into grated potato mixture.  
> Whisk the dry ingredients together and mix them in as well.
> 
> Pour oil ¼ inch thick in a skillet (electric or stovetop). You can tell when it's ready by dropping in a small shred of potato and seeing if it sizzles.
> 
> Using several tablespoons of mixture at a time, shape oval pancakes and add to the hot oil. Press down lightly to help them keep their shape. When the edges are crispy and brown and they hold together, flip over. Transfer finished latkes to a plate lined with paper towels. Keep warm until serving.
> 
> Serve with applesauce and sour cream (traditional), or honey (not so traditional, but also delicious!)


End file.
